


(un)dress code

by multifandom_fanfic_writer



Series: Fics Watched Over by the Eye [3]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Cock Warming, D/s undertones, Demisexual Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Edging, Elias is actually nice here ?!? idk leave me to my dreams, Fluff, M/M, Praise Kink, Safe Sane and Consensual, again this was supposed to be a quick oneshot, i mean tbh its mostly porn, inspired by the s4q&a dresscode discussion, or loosely at least, or mostly sane i mean it is elias and there are some dread powers around, somewhere in the blessed vagueness of seseason 3, though I added a lot of plot oops??? and fluff??!!, toying around with powers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:22:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26838883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/multifandom_fanfic_writer/pseuds/multifandom_fanfic_writer
Summary: “It’s your birthday today.”The scratching sound of pen against paper stops. Elias raises his eyes from the paper before him.“Yes. I suppose it is.”Jon straightens and locks his feet together. “It is customary to give… gifts. A gift. To someone you… that you are close to.”Elias leans back into his chair, studying him closely. “Would you say we are close, Jon?”
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: Fics Watched Over by the Eye [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2105445
Comments: 30
Kudos: 121





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 1 is me giving in to adding a short 'how did their relationship start' piece because bitches need that (I'm bitches). 
> 
> Chapter 2 till 4 are Jon giving Elias some interesting birthday gifts, exploring their relationship while they're at it, in 5+1 form.

Jon remembers, with perfect clarity, every time he has come into Elias’ office.

In his first years at the Magnus Institute, he’d only been there twice. Once in his introductory tour, once to deliver an urgent report. Both times Elias had been polite, friendly. Jon had still felt seen in a way he’d rarely felt like in his life. _Mr. Bouchard his office, Head of the Magnus Institute_ , it had been then.

After his promotion to Head Archivist he started visiting far more often. Once a month, at first, half an hour of informal but business-like chatter, updating his boss who always seemed far too interested in what Jon had thought to be their mundane, boring business.

Jon had chalked it up to professionalism and kindness, back then.

What a joke.

Now, his feelings on his Elias are mixed – _protector-murderer-ally-danger-informant-deceiver-believer_ – but one thing is clear.

Whatever Elias is, however he fits in the picture – he is like Jon. He calls to him.

And Jon cannot help to be drawn to him.

When Jon returns from his temporary exile he is even more scared and even more powerful. This results in more time spent in Elias’ office.

More unanswered questions. Eyes pinning him down, flaying him open.

But Jon is not a bystander anymore.

He is part of this now. Part of the Eye, something he barely understands but yearns for, the power running through the institute also running through him. Resonating between him and Elias, two acolytes to the same God.

So Jon does not stop. Barely holds himself back from putting his hands on the calm, polite man in front of him. Asks, demands, _screams_ accusations at his boss. What is the Unknowing? Why did he kill Leitner? What was _happening_ to him?

Eventually, something snaps.

The compulsion Jon is starting to gain control over surges forward as his frustration reaches his peak. It is sweet in his throat and thick on his tongue as his emotions rise up to arm him. “ _Why did you kill them?”_

Elias shivers, teeth clenched and eyes burning as his mouth starts to move. Too slow for a forced, complete truth – but whatever is coming next, Jon Knows it is not a lie.

“Because they threatened what is important to me.”

_My Institute. My Archivist._

The thought is not his own. It is full or pride, adoration, zeal. It is enough to push him over the edge.

Jon surges forwards, pushing Elias against the wall, his whole body shaking as he reaches out, intending to do – something, shake or punch or _claw_ his way through Elias’ defences-

Instead he finds himself making a desperate noise and crashing their mouths together.

Elias tastes dark and sweet, something Jon could drown in. His skin is warm to the touch, a faint hint of stubble grinding against Jon’s cheek. It is far too human.

Something in Jon feels like it is coming home.

But – it is not most of him. Not yet. He pulls back, shocked at his own actions, seeing the surprise reflected back in Elias’ eyes.

“Jon,” Elias breathes, his voice taking on an unfamiliar, breathless quality that resonates through Jon’s entire body, curling hot inside him.

It feels like a victory. It makes Jon want to do it again.

At heart, however, Jon is still a coward. So he turns and flees, eyes burning a hole in his back.

The rest of the day he avoids Elias like the plague. He does not think to hard about why he is succeeding.

That night Nikola arrives at Georgie’s doorstep and he only knows pain.

* * *

If there is one thing about the whole kidnapping business that Jon is thankful for, it is the way his brain has decided to remember it. Maybe it is the blessing of the Ceaseless Watcher, protecting the most valuable part as him as well as it can, but most likely it is just the way his trauma works.

His memories work like this; Those of the kidnapping itself are vague.

Pain, fear, strangeness, otherness, tender hands against too soft skin.

Hours, days, weeks passing by in a haze. His skin does not feel like his own. Too large. Ill-fitting.

Orsinov liked to speak to him, he remembers. Or, more precisely, to Elias. As if Jon was merely a channel to reach her real target. Taunting. Baiting him. _He’s mine now, and you’re never getting him back._

The sing-song of her voice haunting his dreams.

Vaguely Jon had realized that the puppet-woman _wanted_ Elias to come rescue Jon, here where the Eye cannot See.

This means he can tell himself he is relieved when days pass and Elias does not come.

His memories also work like this; Those of his rescue are crystal clear.

* * *

When the mists close in, one morningeveningnight, Jon is fully prepared to accept that Death is coming for him.

Death is older than he expected, with a scruffy beard and piercing blue eyes. It smells like seawater and loneliness.

It takes him away-

And deposits him on the plush carpet of Elias’ office. 

His brain still doesn’t work quite right. There are words, somewhere, but can’t place them.

“There you go, your dear little Archivist home safe and sound. Or well, mostly sound.”

“Thank you, Peter. Your debt is repaid.”

“Good, good. Well, I’ll leave you to him, then. I have people to avoid.”

Movement, behind him. The temperature rising – when had it gotten so cold?

Then, in front of him. Two eyes, piercing him.

“Jon. Do you know where you are?”

Elias.

“No,” Jon had chocks out, ice flooding his veins once more. “Elias, it’s- not safe, she’s, it’s you she wants, go, _go away_ , before-”

Two arms around him, Jon jerking back in reflexive terror. The arms leave. Jon makes a keen noise of loss.

He wonders why.

Something deep within him, that has kept him alive through corruption and desolation and all the _strangeness,_ calls to the man in front of him.

_Kin_ , it whispers. _Safe._

His panic lessens. His vision clears. The plush green of the carpet, the wooden desk, the smell of sandalwood. This- this is Elias’ office. He’s- he’s been-

“Elias?” His throat burns, raw after so much disuse. Or was it screaming?

Two arms come forward once more, covering his hands with their own. They belong to the face with the piercing eyes.

Jon blinks.

The man in front of him turned out to be Elias all along. He looks tired, somehow, less composed than he usually is. At Jon’s words, a smile appears on his thin lips that Jon might even call genuine.

Elias came for him.

The thing in his chest surges, and a wave of affection that Jon did not know he had for the man. But Elias is here now, took him away from that place, and he _sees_ him. His gaze, the weight of his – but there is no denying it now anymore, not really – _their_ God on them.

“Jon.” he simply says, a wealth of meaning behind the word.

Warmth floods his body, adrenaline and relief mixing together until all his nerves are alight with sensation, with the happiness of being in the Institute again, _home_ again. He feels watched, Known, and for the first time in his life Jon welcomes the sensation.

Elias comes closer, hands now on his shoulders, pulling Jon towards him. A small part of Jon wants so tear himself free, terrified of being restrained, but a larger part of him wants welcomes the embrace. This is no stranger, nor any kind of strangeness; This is simply him, safe and known under the Ceaseless Watcher.

He burrows his head into Elias’ shoulder and breathes in the familiar smell. Jon feels a touch of something other against his mind and recognizes it as Elias; then recognizes that this is the first time he actually realizes what Elias is doing.

Growth, indeed.

“My Archivist,” Elias murmurs into Jon’s hair, one of his hands coming around to his back, petting him softly. “I’m so proud of you.”

Jon tilts his head upwards and kisses him.

He kisses Elias like it’s the last thing he can do on this earth, his final act before he fades away. Jon doesn’t have a lot of experience with kissing, doesn’t have a lot of experience with things like this in general, but he thinks his sheer _need_ makes up for it.

Elias doesn’t seem surprised but makes a pleased noise nonetheless. He shifts Jon in his lap, leans back against the mahogany desk, Jon only now realizing Elias had joined him on the floor.

When Elias tilts his head to accommodate him Jon makes a greedy noise and deepens the kiss. He nips at Jon’s lips, teases Jon’s tongue with his own, presses against him like he’s worshipping him. Like this is the only thing that matters, the two of them, here, real, _alive_. 

The Archivist feels like he’s coming into himself again, shaking the strangeness of the past month off, here in the heart of the Eye’s domain.

Jon only now notices how his hands are clutching at Elias’ lapels, pulling him down and flush against him. Elias hums against his lips. Jon gives a full-body shiver in response.

Elias is the one to pull away, stroking Jon’s cheek as he does. Jon makes a wounded noise as he stares at Elias with large eyes.

“Maybe it is best if you sit down on the couch for a moment,” he tells him in an even voice, though his breath is uneven. He doesn’t ask if Jon’s okay. Jon appreciates it more than he can say.

So Jon complies, even though he want to clutch to Elias like a babe. Doesn’t want to let go, in case this is all a dream.

It can’t be, he Knows that, just as he Knows that the gaze of his patron cannot be faked. It still feels surreal as he is guided to a well-worn dark leather couch he swears had not been there before.

Elias moves towards his desk but a hand on his sleeve stops him. Pale eyes meet dark ones, and Jon feels far too transparent.

Elias sighs indulgently and sits down on the couch.

Jon leans into his side immediately and does not know if he hates himself for it. Elias does not react either way, staring blankly at the painting of the Institute’s founder behind his desk.

Jon’s mind is a whirlwind of thoughts even as his body rejoices the feeling of someone like him at his side. This man has murdered people in cold blood – he knew about Not-Sascha – he helped them defeat the worms – he _rescued_ him from Nikola –

Elias voice cuts through Jon’s inner thoughts. “I regret what happened to you this past month, Jon. It was- it wasn’t necessary.”

He sounds conflicted, even if his words make no sense, so Jon simply hums. Breathes in Elias’ smell, savouring the feeling of rightness that fills him.

“My apologies that I have only now been able to… solve this problem.” The formality in Elias’ voice is in deep contrast with the way the feeling of being watched intensifies. It ignites something in his gut that Jon is not familiar with.

Jon stiffens, then relaxes. “You came to get me. That’s what matters,” he tries to say reassuringly, but it doesn’t seem like Elias hears him.

“I nearly lost you, Jon. That woman – her domain. Well. I- I couldn’t see you,” Elias replies. His voice is uncharacteristically rough.

For a moment, Elias sounds vulnerable.

Jon turns his head slightly, waiting until Elias turns his head to meet his eyes. The man looks composed, breathing in and out evenly once more. He does not lean into Jon’s desperate touches, but he does not reject them, either.

“Do you often watch me?” Jon unconsciously adds a sliver of compulsion to the question, only realising it when Elias’ eyes slowly slide shut and his mouth moves without him realizing it.

“Not enough,” he replies like a prayer, a whispered confession in church. “Never enough.”

Something in Jon rejoices. He blames that part of him for leaning forward and capturing Elias’ lips once more.

He does not know which one of them it is that sighs in relief, but it does propel him forward to literally climb in Elias’ lap. Their kisses are slow, languid, enjoying the closeness, the tingling across their skin as the gaze of something otherworldly sharpens at their joining. Elias’ kisses Jon like he is worshipping him, like a priest kneeling for his God, every noise he makes in the back of his throat like a prayer.

Jon throws his arms around Elias’ neck, sits fully on his lap now. Someone is whimpering softly, and Jon belatedly realizes it is him.

Elias’ hands travel down his sides, resting on his hips, and Jon shudders. A fire is igniting in his bones, a rusty switch inside of him that had rarely moved at all throughout his life now switched on. He clutches harder at Elias’ neck, pressing them closer together, as if Jon wants to devour him whole-

The hands on his hips tighten, push softly. Elias pulls back, and Jon bites back a whine at the loss.

“Jon,” Elias breathes, and Jon revels in the flush spread across his cheekbones. “Maybe this is not a good idea. You’ve just been through a traumatizing experience-”

Jon can’t help himself. He barks out a laugh. “Please, Elias. Since when do you care about that? I’d gotten the expression that you enjoy me going through these kinds of things, orchestrating them,” he is cut off by a finger on his lips.

“It is true that I like to push you, challenge you,” Elias admits softly, “but that is only because I want you to be strong. Right now, I’m afraid this was simply a bit too much.”

Jon bares his teeth. “You don’t get to decide that,” he hisses, while he pushes Elias into the plush backseat of the couch.

“I make my own choices. And this time, Elias, this time you will simply accept them,” Jon half-snarls and descends upon Elias once more.

This time, Elias lets himself fall willingly.


	2. five gifts + one receipt part I

1.

* * *

There are several reasons that Jon likes to be one of the first employees to arrive at the Magnus Institute every day.

Firstly, the commute is almost lonely, a privacy that Jon appreciates. Secondly, there are less people to bother him with completely irrelevant concerns as he makes his way to the archives. Thirdly, the night manager at the Magnus Institute that welcomes him at the doors is a friendly, unflappable man named Argus whom Jon – for a change –actively likes.

Jon is never the very first employee who enters the building, though.

(He is not sure if Elias ever leaves at all.)

As Jon makes his way up to Elias’ office, he feels a shiver of anticipation travel down his spine. His steps are slow but sure, hands a little sweaty, and he can _feel_ eyes on him that he knows he’s not imagining.

On this specific day, there is another advantage to coming in early. Rosie is not here yet, which means there is no one to see him near Elias’ office – or ask what he is doing there.

Jon moves his hand towards the dark wood.

“Jon. Please, do come in,” a familiar smooth voice says from the other side of the wood just before his knuckles hit the wood.

He tries to ignore how the deep baritone voice strokes his ears, worms its way into his body – perhaps even literally – kindling a fire low in his gut that has been burning since Jon woke up this morning.

There is a feeling sunken in his bones he hesitates to name.

For all that Jon wants to see, to Know, this is one truth he’d rather not face.

(He enters the lion’s den anyway.)

Elias is behind his large mahogany desk as he always is. The desk is covered in papers, meeting preparations and finances and HR policies that both of them know _do not matter at all_. The sound of writing is calming. Focussing.

The door closes behind him and Jon does not lock it.

Elias, for his part, does not look up. A single golden earring with a stylized eye is dangling from his left ear. Jon feels as if he’s looking at him anyway.

The older man is dressed in his usual gray suit, silk olive tie the only splash of colour on his person. When it catches the light in the right way, the pattern of eyes on it is barely visible.

Jon takes a deep breath.

“It’s your birthday today.”

The scratching sound of pen against paper stops. Elias slowly raises his eyes and Jon feels his gaze upon him like the sun.

“Yes. I suppose it is.” A lazy smile works its way on thin lips, confident in its superiority.

Jon straightens and locks his feet together. “It is customary to give… gifts. A gift. To someone you… that you are close to.”

Elias leans back into his chair, studying him calmly.

“Would you say we are close, Jon?” he breathes into the air between them.

Jon narrows his eyes.

“Are we?” he asks in return, the compulsion in his voice coming with little effort. Too little effort, maybe – using his newfound powers come more and more easily these days.

It is not strong enough to overwhelm Elias, isn’t by far. Not when he’s fully composed. But the man stills for a moment, giving Jon a slow blink, almost pleased. “You’ll have to try harder than that, my dear Archivist.”

Jon glares at him and moves forward quickly.

It is unnatural how natural it feels to be near Elias these days. As Jon closes the distance between them he feels the air between them heat up.

Surely it has to do with the way the Eye’s gaze falls upon them both, whenever they are together, drinking in its two most powerful acolytes with greed.

The Institute is a church, and in this office, Jon confesses his sins.

(Commits them. For the Eye, is there is a difference, really?)

“Or I’ll try to distract you in a different way,” Jon answers in a sultry voice – or what he hopes is a sultry voice. He’d practiced it often enough this past week for it to at least be passable.

Elias’ pupils dilate. Jon tries not to blush, twirling a finger around a loose strand of hair and tries not to feel surprise about his own success.

“Please do,” and Jon shuts him up with a kiss.

Usually it is Elias who initiates these things, who pulls Jon flush against him or against a wall or down on his knees. This time, Jon is the one throwing his hands around Elias’ neck, moving into his lap.

“My, my,” Elias teases in-between kisses, “aren’t I a lucky man today?”

The sensuality underlining his voice makes Jon blush hotly. It seems sincere, and something inside of Jon preens that it is _him_ that arouses this usually so unflappable man so easily. He tries not to give that part of him too much attention.

“Well,” Jon replies, slightly out of breath, “it is your birthday, as we have just confirmed.”

“I must admit, I do like my present,” Elias comments lowly, seductively, running his hands up and down Jon’s hips.

Jon smiles, willing himself to keep it together. “You don’t know what it is, yet,” he responds as he loosens his grip from around Elias’ neck and trails his hands down the man’s chest slowly, tracing the outline of his tie, pulling at it just a little.

Elias’ eyes are still on his lips as Jon leans down to kiss him once more, playfully this time. He has to stop himself from simply melting into Elias’ arms, maybe even locking the door and spending the whole day in here, sanity be damned.

“Please, do enlighten me,” Elias responses as one hand creeps upward and settles in Jon’s hair, the other around Jon’s hip, pulling him even closer into his lap.

Outwardly, Elias still looks as if the two of them are having a perfectly shallow conversation. But, as Jon is pulled deeper into his lap, a hard length presses against his hip.

Elias' eyes darken. Jon's breath hitches. That was all that he was waiting for.

“Let me show you.” Jon smirks, only slightly out of breath. He moves to raise out of Elias’ lap, who lets him go after a long moment, pressing a quick peck to his lips as he goes.

Jon moves towards his bag, which he’d left next the door on purpose. He smooths down his slightly rumpled clothing, pulls his hair into a bun, and picks up the bag with a mischievous smile.

The two of them stare at each other for a moment.

Jon’s smile turns mischievous. “I didn’t say I would show you right now, did I?”

Elias leans forward in his chair, eyes drinking in Jon’s form with admiration. 

He smirks, and Jon wants to kiss the smugness off him. “Even better.”

“You’ll see,” Jon simply responds and exits the office.

* * *

2.

* * *

Rosie has a daily tea break on 10:12 precisely.

On 10:13, Jon does not bother to knock on the door.

It opens smoothly, shutting behind him. Jon is already halfway, avoiding Elias’ calm gaze. A laptop is open on his desk, mobile phone next to it.

“Jon, while I admire your enthusiasm, this is simply not the right time.” Even though Jon must be all but screaming his thoughts at him, the rate they are currently flowing through his head, Elias manages to sound mildly annoyed.

He pays no heed to the words, nor to the deliberate frown that plays on Elias his eyebrows as Jon quickly closes the space between them.

He swallows and his throat is far too dry. “This won’t take long.”

“Regardless,” Elias says with a tilt of his head, “that does not-”

Jon has already dropped to his knees, silent against the soft green carpet, pushing Elias’ legs apart, settling beneath his desk in a way that is far too natural.

(When did this start, he wonders. When had he first given in, slim fingers on his chin and that voice in his ear whispering praise and encouragement – was it too late to turn back? Did he even want to?)

“Jon.” Elias simply says and does not move to stop him.

Jon his fingers are shaking slightly as he reaches for the leather belt, removing it and unzipping pressed trousers with a swiftness that betrays he has done it before. Still, he isn’t an expert on this, not by any means. He prays he does not screw this up.

 _Would the Eye even care for this prayer?_ Jon snorts.

Elias says something else but Jon does not process the words. He only hears his own blood rushing, heating up, as he frees Elias’ slowly hardening cock from his trousers and brings his head forward.

The only reason he hears the hitch in Elias’ breath is because he is listening to it.

It soothes something inside of him nonetheless.

Even soft like this it feels amazing to take into his mouth. Jon tries to deny how much he’s missed the taste, thick on his tongue and musky smell filling his nose. He moans softly, letting the vibrations rise through his throat.

One of Elias his hands moves to his hair, gripping it tight as they both know he likes it. The cock in his mouth slowly starts to thicken.

“Very good, Jon,” he says simply and Jon’s eyes fall shut in delight.

Jon traces the underside of Elias’ cock with his tongue, slow and deliberate. Feels Elias respond, shift ever so slightly in his seat.

The phone starts to ring.

Jon opens his eyes to look upwards. Tries to hide his uncertainty behind his stubbornness, his self-imposed resoluteness. Trying to look at the spot through the wood where he knows Elias is looking back.

It’s not like the wood is doing anything to hinder Elias’ Sight.

A beat passes. The phone rings once more.

Jon sucks once, taking the half-hard cock deeper into his mouth, eyes still wide open and glistering seductively.

“My Archivist,” Elias mutters. The pride in his voice makes Jon’s whole body light up. “You continue to surprise me,” he mutters softly as he strokes Jon’s cheek with one hand, leaving a trail of warmth that Jon savours.

The hand stills. The ringing stops.

“Elias Bouchard, Head of the Magnus Institute. Ah. Yes, Mr. Rover, it is good to hear from you as well.”

Elias’ his voice is smooth; friendly, even. There is no change in it, no tilt or trace that would betray the fact that his cock is currently in Jon’s mouth.

Jon closes his eyes. The hand on his cheek strokes him softly once more.

He forces his body to unwind, loosening his legs and relaxing his throat. The hand moves to his hair, tightens there for just a moment, and Jon moans quietly.

The hand tightens again, painfully. Jon swallows back the whine that bubbles up from inside him, trying his hardest to stay still.

“Of course, and it was most succinct and pleasing to read. Indeed, it is already stored in our restricted library section, rest assured.”

The hand loosens its grip and strokes softly through Jon’s messy hair, almost affectionately if not for the man the hand belonged to. Jon still moves his head towards it, creeping forward until he is almost hugging the legs beneath the desk.

His mind relaxes, racing thoughts coming to a halt here underneath the desk, the static in the back of his mind strengthened with Elias’ presence so that it feels a natural part of him, instead of an intrusion.

Jon could sit here all day.

Above him, Elias is simply humming, the voice on the other end speaking indecipherable nonsense. It calms something inside him that is always hungry for- something that Elias, apparently, can give.

It is peaceful.

But- Wait.

Jon mentally shakes himself. This was not the plan, damnit. He had a _plan_.

Trying his hardest to clear the fog from his mind, Jon concentrates and strains his ears.

“Well, the Institute has produced several promising pieces of research this year, starting with…”

Waiting until just the right moment, Jon suddenly darts out with his tongue, caressing Elias’ half-hard cock, sucking on it and letting his tongue rub up and down the shaft.

Above him, Elias’ makes a startled noise that smoothly transitions into a cough.

The fingers tighten.

Jon lets himself enjoy the pain, the pin-prickle sensations across his scalp that stimulate instead of reduce. He even dares to move his head slightly, taking Elias’ cock in fully, as he can only manage when it is not entirely erect yet. Pressing his nose into the neatly trimmed hair at the base and breathing in, sharp and dark and _Elias_ , the muscles of his throat working overtime to accommodate the cock in his mouth.

The fingers pull him back now, applying force, and Jon cannot stop the needy noise from escaping as he is drawn back.

But it is only a second before his mouth is filled once more. This time with four fingers, pushing his tongue down and spreading his lips open wide. Elias’ knuckles disappear into his mouth as Jon gags on his hand, unable to make a sound.

Above him, Elias’ voice is only slightly strained.

“Ah, I do apologize, but my next appointment has arrived. Yes, yes, I will. My apologies once more,” followed by the sound of something being put a little too forcefully back on the desk.

The hand withdraws, and Jon grins, feeling slightly dizzy but proud as the hand grips him by the collar of his shirt instead, pulling him forward until he falls on his hands and knees, dragged away from his hiding spot.

Elias is standing now, risen from his throne. Right behind him, the portrait of Jonah Magnus looms over them both.

Jon feels more than one pair of eyes on him.

Elias’ cock is fully hard now, glistering with saliva. That, and the fact that Elias is standing, are the only signs the man is affected by what Jon did at all.

Jon licks his lips.

Elias takes an almost invisible breath and moves forward, pulling Jon further up as he automatically grabs muscled tights, eyes falling half-closed as he is already opening his lips, mouth watering and breath quickening-

“Stop.”

It takes all of Jon’s willpower to force the word out of his throat, directly against the desire burning hot and shamefully in his stomach. Performing oral sex is one thing, _wanting_ his mouth to be fucked so hard he cannot breathe is another. Jon feels bare. Exposed. Needy.

He loves it.

But he has a plan. A _plan_ , damnit, and his inherent stubbornness is not that easily distracted.

Elias, to his credit, stills immediately. When Jon focuses his eyes again, trying to ignore Elias red and weeping cock so near his mouth, delicious and tempting, he can the way the muscles in Elias’ arms are strung tight with self-restraint.

Elias studies him intently as Jon slowly rises to his feet. Wiping his spit-covered mouth with one sleeve, leaning back against the desk to support his trembling legs.

Elias reaches out with one hand, hovering in front of Jon’s chest. His cock has softened slightly, and Jon aches to drop back on his knees. But no.

“Jon?”

Jon meets Elias’ eyes squarely, a flash of warmth flowing through him at the concern the other does not try to hide. Gives a slow grin.

Elias’ eyes immediately turn sharp.

“Patience is a virtue,” Jon says breathily, “ _don’t you agree_?”

The compulsion in his voice is deliberate, as strong as he can make it without tapping into his emotions. The words course through Elias, hands tightening into fists as his pupils dilate, cock jumping to full attention again. The presence of the Ceaseless Watcher is _tangible_. 

A part of Jon cannot help but rejoice.

His enjoyment is cut short, turns quickly into desperation as Elias pushes him back against his desk so that he is half-sitting on it, capturing his mouth in a kiss. He scrapes his teeth against Jon’s lips, and Jon sucks back greedily. His cock rubs against Jon’s clothed one, pleasure setting his nerves alight. He’s clutching Elias’ back like it is a lifeline, like it can stop him from downing in the man, the tongue now stroking the inside of his mouth as Jon shudders from the sensation.

Then Elias pulls back, taking the delicious friction with him. Tucks himself in as Jon watches. 

Smirks.

“Didn’t you have a plan to follow, my dear Archivist?” His voice is confident, superior and full of sultry amusement. As he speaks these words, a hand trails along Jon’s neck, nails digging in harshly.

Just for that, Jon leaves him there.

* * *

3.

* * *

Margret Prince has been the Head Librarian of the Magnus Institute for almost two decades.

She is a stern woman, not unkind but not friendly either. A sticker for the rules. She guards the safety of what she considers to be _her_ books fiercely, keeping them all in pristine condition. She knows the Institute Rulebook inside and out. Breaking the rules is one of the highest sins in Margret’s mind, which stems from a far-too-stern and not loving enough father, though Jon Knows she has not come to that realization yet.

She also has the uttermost respect for Mr. Bouchard.

And none for that dreadful, upstart, vagabond Head Archivist.

These and more are the reasons Jon is currently making his way up to the library, keeping one eye on his watch and a smile on his face.

For the past week, he’s been in and out of the library at least four times, which is three times more than he’s ever been there before.

The first time, he made sure to call Georgie and talk far too loudly as he browsed through the books.

The second time, he took three books out only to return two at the end of the day, feigning ignorance at the third one.

The third time, he walked into the library coffee in hand, which subsequentially meant Margret pulled him back and scolded him loudly.

The fourth time, he returned the third book he’d ‘forgotten’ about and watched her try to compose herself at the coffee stain on the third page. (It was a worthless book, anyway.) He’d removed himself from the library quickly before she had a chance to explode on him too early.

And now, today, his preparations would come to fruition. Jon checks his watch once more as he catches his reflection in a nearby window.

He has just gone back into his office and changed into something special for her.

Margret was in her usual corner as he approached the library, the tall and intimidating shelves feeling comforting around him, dark reds and greens dominating the atmosphere. The whole place had a certain… elegance about it. Luxury. Elitism.

His ratty old T-shirt with a badly-drawn Elvis on it and comfortable but bright red sweatpants did not fit the atmosphere.

At all.

As Jon turned to corner, meeting Margret’s eyes, he suppresses the grin that wanted to appear on his face as Margret’s mouth falls open at his attire.

“Ah, Margret, good to see you again. I was just-”

“No.” Her tone is final.

Jon raises one eyebrow, politely confused. “Excuse me?”

“You are coming with me, Mr. Sims. This has gone on far too long – and this is _not_ the proper way for a member of the Magnus Institute to behave. Or dress.” The disgust in her voice is palpable, and Jon cannot suppress a condescending smirk.

“We are going to see Mr. Bouchard himself now, Mr. Sims, and we will see what _he_ has to say about…” she gestures wildly at him, “all this.”

 _Oh, I’m sure he has a lot to say about me, not that you will ever hear that_. Outwardly, he only nods, trying to look suitably chastened.

“Oh, of course, Margret. Ah, Ms. Prince. If you feel that it is necessary.”

Her mouth forms into a thin line. “It is.”

Margret leads the two of them, familiar portraits covering the hallways as they approach the Head’s office. Her gait is quick, feet landing a bit to forceful on the wooden floor, and Jon savours the enjoyment he gets over this non-fear related thing.

He makes sure to grin at the painted eyes as they pass painting after painting.

Margret approached Rosie with a forceful stare, and Rosie quirks an eyebrow as she politely converses with Margret and then nods. Gestures them onward.

She turns a questioning look towards Jon, but he just shrugs.

Margret Prince knocks on the door to Elias’ office with reverence, and Jon bites back his amusement as they are made to wait one, three, ten seconds before Elias’ voice welcomes them inside.

The office where he had been on his knees just hours before feels familiar by now. Elias looks up from his laptop and papers, greeting both of them with a polite – fake – smile.

“Ah, Margret, Jon. What can I do for you?”

“Mr. Bouchard,” Margret starts heatedly. “I would like to file a complaint.”

“Oh,” Elias politely response, one eyebrow curved elegantly upward, “please, take a seat. I take any problems within my staff very seriously.” One hand elegantly gestures to the two chairs in front of his desk, which are normally _not_ part of this office’s décor.

The smugness radiating from Elias’ is palatable. His stance is still slightly weary, however, aware that Jon is up to something – though not what exactly.

“Yes,” Margret response somewhat reassured, and takes a seat. Jon does not, standing behind the chair defiantly, not that the woman notices, focused as she is on Elias.

The smugness becomes mixed with amusement.

Margret starts to lay out the events of this week to Elias, emphasizing Jon’s general attitude, carelessness and most of all _clothes._ Jon Knows that the Institute’s deliberately vague dress code is something Elias loves to use to torment his employees – Margret among them. 

Elias nods, making sympathetic noises as Margret starts to explain the coffee stains. The loudness. Insisting that there be _consequences._ He leans back into his chair slightly, elbows on the desk, fingers clasped together and drumming slowly as he relaxes the tiniest bit, confident that he has guessed this part of Jon’s gift.

But no. No, Jon thinks, this is not about that. Not at all.

Elias must pick up the thought somehow, as his fingers still. The prickling feeling against Jon’s neck returns, and Jon tries to gather his nerve as he takes a deep breath, concentrates on the parts of him that are not quite as human as the others, and projects his thoughts as loud as he can.

_The soft ticking of the clock is the only sound in Elias’ office. It is calming, hypnotizing, rhythmic._

_Jon’s head bobs up and down almost in sync with it. The Archivist barely notices this as his lips slide up and down heated flesh. The only important thing right now is the feeling of Elias’ cock in his mouth, hard and thick, the way his tongue feels as he strokes the length of it._

_Tracing the veins of it with enthusiasm, taking it almost out of his mouth and then sinking back on it until his gag reflex threatens to act up. It feels so full, so good, and best of all are the occasional bit-back groans he can feel vibrating through the older man’s body._

_Elias has abandoned the pretence of his work, instead leaning back with his eyes closed and one hand in Jon’s hair, \ laying there gently. That is not to say Elias is not watching him, though, and Jon knows it. Enjoys it, even, the slow trickle of awareness in the back of his mind that keeps him just alert enough that every time Elias’ cock hits the back of his throat it tingles._

_Elias’ hand tightens in his hear, tugs him just a little bit forward, and Jon obediently speeds up, obeying the rhythm Elias is setting._

_Elias does not need to hold his head still and fuck his mouth for him obey._

_Jon still lets out a little moan at the thought. Elias responds with a smile, eyes still closed but the delight still radiating off him as he moves both of his hands towards Jon’s hair and grips it tightly, painfully, just the way Jon likes it-_

“…which is just not the way that we want our Institute to be portrayed, am I- Oh, Mr. Bouchard, are you okay?”

Elias is coughing, eyes wide open and flickering towards Jon quickly before closing. Surprise, admiration, arousal – Jon desperately wants Elias to open them again, to see if he really managed to catch him off guard.

“It’s nothing, Margret, thank you. I, ahem, please, continue.”

Elias very deliberately does not look at Jon. Apart from his sudden coughing fit, he seems completely composed again. He does not even shift in his seat.

Fine. Jon hadn’t expected it too be easy.

As Margret starts to talk something or the other, Jon gathers his fantasy around him like a whirlwind and casts the storm towards Elias forcefully. Hoping he’s still a bit off guard, wouldn’t expect another attack so soon-

_“Do you like it when I compel you, Elias?”_

_The simple question is delivered with a far too innocent smile. The compulsion behind it feels good, right, far too natural for the human Jon tries to be._

_Elias, sat on his office chair in the middle of the room, hands tied to the armrests in a way that could have only be done with permission, shivers. There is a sheen of sweat on his forehead and the tent in his trousers is very obvious._

_Jon doesn’t know how long they’ve been at this. Training, Elias had called it, voice far too casual for the look in his eyes._

_Jon still said yes._

_Elias hasn’t answered a single one of his questions since they started._

_That does not mean, of course, that he has been silent._

_“Almost there, Jon,” Elias ragged voice answers after a beat. “You’re doing so well. I’m so proud of you.”_

_Jon cannot help but close his eyes at that, warmth running through his veins. He hates that he’s so easily malleable for Elias, who can push his buttons like no other._

_“You get off on this, don’t you? I’m sure you’re yearning to tear yourself free, pull me down and fuck my mouth good for daring to ask you all these things.” Elias starts trembling again, shivering in pleasure. Jon is shaking with an otherworldly excitement. “You may act all superior, but you’re beholden to your Master just the same as I am.” Even now, Elias has enough self-control to shoot Jon a chastening look._

_The Archivist’s lips twist at that. “Our Master,” he acknowledges as he only does when it is the two of them. Elias lets out a shuddering breath, a flash of elation on his face. Jon takes a breath and doubles down again. “Now answer my question.”_

_The older man is silent for nine full seconds before the tremors subside and his breath steadies out again. “My Archivist,” Elias breathes in admiration. Jon wets his lips._

_“Have you thought about this, Elias? Or do your fantasies revolve more around me compelling you to go harder, deeper, as you push me up against a wall, your desk, the floor.” Jon felt himself start to stir at the imagery. “What do you fantasise about, Elias? **Tell me.** ”_

_Elias bucks against his restraints, not quite succeeding in biting back a moan at the friction of his pants against his clothed cock. His whole body is taunt for two seconds, three, four-_

_-his mouth is torn open, his eyes fall shut and his whole body shudders as-_

This time, Elias stills completely, not even blinking. His face is frozen in a polite smile, his eyes fixed on some point to the left of Margret’s head even as he would normally nod attentively.

Jon can almost see the willpower coursing through Elias’ body as he forces himself to stay clam.

The display of self-control should not be as sexy as it is.

Jon himself is not as… driven as Elias is concerning matters of the body. But, for all that the naked flesh of others leaves him cold and untouched, there is something about Elias that pushes just the right buttons.

Though he knows this about himself, it still feels like something of a surprise that a pleasant shudder runs from the top of his head to the tips of his toes as he looks at Elias’ restraint, the half-fantasy half-memory that Jon had just sent clear in his mind.

Something else is coursing through Jon’s body as well – adrenaline. Here he is, _teasing_ his partner who is also is very attractive older boss who is also the only other Avatar of the Eye that he knows.

It feels like growth in a different way.

As Jon contemplates this, Elias has relaxed once more. He replies something to Margret, something about the importance of the Institute’s Library, and Margret goes off on another pleased tangent.

It’s cute, somehow, to see the passion the Head Librarian so clearly has for her books. It would have made Jon feel a little guilty for using her like this, but it’s not as if she’s actually harmed.

(Not as if he will be appearing in her dreams.)

Besides, it’s worth it to see the flicker of impatience run through Elias’ eyes.

“If it’s worth anything, miss Prince, I am sorry for the book. It was not my intention,” Jon says placidly, though his eyes are not on Margret.

“It is not,” Margret answers stiffly, turning around in her seat to meet his eyes, but Jon is watching Elias instead who automatically turns with her.

Jon smiles, and Elias leans forward in his seat just the tiniest fraction.

_“Please, Elias, pleasepleaseplease,” Jon moans loudly as his face is pushed against the pillows and Elias positions himself behind him. His whole body is on fire, and he needs it so much, needs it so badly-_

_Elias is still far too composed for Jon’s tastes. His cockhead teases at his entrance, already slick with lube, one hand slapping his bare ass lightly. “At least you’ve learned manners,” the Head of the Magnus Institute tuts lightly. “But I’m not convinced yet.”_

_Jon writhes against the sheets, trying to push back into Elias’ cock, but his partner does not allow it. “Please Elias,” he half-sobs, too far gone to be embarrassed about what is coming out of his mouth, “please fuck me, I need you in me, need you to fill me up, c-can’t wait any longer, E-Elias,_ Elias _!”_

_Elias fills him up in one smooth motion until his balls tickle against Jon’s ass. Jon keens, stretched open so fast it’s burning, the sensation only heightening the way his nerves are on fire. “Good boy,” Elias breathes in his ear, and then he starts to move._

_The drag of Elias’ cock in and out of him feels so good, the quickening of the other man’s breath like a blessing, and Jon starts shaking with pleasure. Underneath him, his cock is untouched, but the sweat and slick of his body provide enough wetness for the friction of the bed underneath him to become pleasurable._

_It is not enough._

_Elias, the bastard, is angling himself just so that he_ just _misses Jon’s prostrate, no matter how Jon tries to buck his hips into him. A phantom echo of pleasure teasing his body, pulling it taut. Elias’ arms shoot forward, pinning Jon’s wrists above him, then moving one hand to pull at Jon’s hair._

_The sensation tickles across his scalp and Jon moans loudly. “E-Elias, please,” he can only repeat, and feels Elias’ press his lips against his shoulder._

_“What are you?” he asks intently._

_“Yours,” Jon sobs, “I’m yours, all yours, please, please- Ah!”_

_He feels Elias shudder at the words, and his next words are low and gravelly. “Mine,” he declares, commands, and Jon can only whine in agreement. “My Archivist.”_

_Elias changes his angle and starts to set a brutal pace. Jon keens as his prostrate is hit over and over again, both of Elias’ hands now around his neck, cutting of his blood flow in such a way that his head starts feeling floaty even as his body is wracked with pleasure. Elias lifts him up against him, still fucking him hard and fast, and Jon wants to stay like this forever._

_“Your Archivist,” he rasps and he feels Elias shudder behind him-_

This time, Elias’ gaze bores into Jon’s and the heat in his gaze is undeniable. His fingers clench and unclench, settling on his thighs again with great restraint, and Jon closes his eyes for a moment and enjoys the inner turmoil he Knows Elias is feeling.

Jon smiles victoriously, cheeks only a little flushed.

“Yes! That was exactly my reaction when Mr. Sims turned up with that!” said an annoying voice, pulling Jon down to earth.

Right. Margret was still in the room with them. She was interpreting Elias’ body language in a very different way.

Elias rose unceremoniously, briskly walking towards the entrance to his office and holding it open for the Head Librarian. “Thank you Margret,” his voice uncharacteristically clipped to which Jon could only smirk, “I will take him from here.”

The dismissal was clear. Margret seemed startled for a moment at Elias’ brisk manner. Then she seemed to make her mind up, stuck her nose in the air and shot Jon a triumphant look.

“Of course, Mr. Bouchard. Thank you.”

As soon as she marched pass the threshold of the office Elias closed the door slowly.

Jon, for his part, leaned back against Elias’ desk and grinned triumphantly as Elias took several deep breaths before turning back around to face him.

The grin died quickly at the look on Elias’ face.

“Oh, Jon,” Elias practically _purred_ , and Jon felt his hackles rising.

There stood a predator, and he was prey.

“You keep surprising me, my dear Archivist,” each word pronounced clearly, punctuated by a slow step, closing the distance between them clearly. Jon felt the first stirrings of excitement in his gut, adrenaline surging back up.

“So bold,” Elias continued lowly, “so lovely,” hands on either side of him, trapping him, “so _powerful_.”

At the last word, Elias attacks. He pushes his body against Jon’s, pulling them flush together, and Jon can feel his arousal pressing against his hip. Elias’ lips attack his neck, licking and sucking and kissing a ring of marks against the skin, and Jon feels his body responding, pleasure starting to swell up like the tide.

His eyes fall on his watch once more, and he smiles.

“Elias,” he fails to say casually, “we have a meeting in ten minutes. We don’t want to be late, do we?”

“And why do you think I care about that?” Elias answers lightly, scraping his nails against Jon’s scalp, tugging at his hair. The only signs of him being affected are the slight quickening of his breath and the feeling of a hard cock against his thigh.

Jon shudders but does not let up. “Because if you gave in now,” he answers with a twisted grin, “that would mean _I win_.”

Elias holds his gaze, bodies still flush together, and Jon forces himself to stay calm.

Then Elias steps back, chuckling softly as he does so. “Oh, Jon,” he says fondly, “sometimes you know me so well.” His voice darkens. “Maybe even too well.”

Jon swallows at the words and leaves the office quickly, feeling eyes on him even after the door has closed.

* * *

4.

* * *

The monthly management meeting is something Jon never bothers to go to. He doesn’t care, his Archives will get whatever they need anyway, and it’s not like Elias will ever actually fire him.

Could fire him.

But this day, Jon makes an exception.

As he is the first to enter the meeting room on the second floor, he has to suppress a snort. It’s such a typical thing, a bland but large oval table, old-fashioned beamer in the back. A whiteboard and markers in several colours; coffee and tea neatly set in the middle on silver cutlery. The walls are a nondescript beige, the floor is wood, and the chairs seem the kind that are far too expensive and are never actually comfortable, leaving the occupant squirming in their seat as if being watched.

Of course, this room also has a portrait of a long-dead researched full of themselves at either side. The eyes are painted in particular detail.

The room it lit by a crawling, artsy mess of lines and lights that is far too much metal and far too little light.

Without even meaning too, Jon’s eyes are drawn to one of the chairs in the back, which he Knows is Elias’ usual spot. Watching the meeting as it progresses, never speaking up any more often than absolutely necessary.

When he does, all eyes would swivel to him, some squinting against the light of the beamer in the back. The words of the Head of the Magnus Institute would either be complimentary – a rare treat which makes the recipient puff up, even as their co-workers glare jealously at them – or lightly scolding, as if talking to a particularly stubborn child.

Not one of his employees can ever figure out why that affects them so much, why it reminds them of their childhood, their mother or father or uncle or teacher’s disappointment echoing vaguely in Mr. Bouchard’s words.

The Chair next to him is always empty. Not because it is in the back, but because it is next to Elias.

Rarely, a brave new soul tries to seat themselves on that chair, to whom Elias will always smile politely. The employee would feel praised, pleased, thinking _why did I think this was a bad idea?_

But as the meeting would go on, the occupant of the chair would feel… watched. Judged. A prickle of awareness, somewhere in the back of their head, a primal awareness screaming _danger_.

Always, inexplicably, they would feel eyes on them, and when they would subtly or not-so-subtly turn their eyes upon Mr. Bouchard, whom they are sure will be looking back, watching them – his eyes would always be on the front of the room.

But the employee will still feel watched.

Next meeting, The Chair is empty once more.

As the knowledge suddenly appears in his mind, Jon can only roll his eyes at Elias’ antics as he lets himself fall on ‘the chair’ bonelessly. He even brought a few loose sheets of papers and a pen, even though he has no idea what the meeting will actually be about.

A few minutes later, people start slowly filtering into the room. All of them shoot him a startled look, though Jon does not know if that is because _he_ is sitting here, or he is sitting _here_. 

He meets all of their eyes. They quickly look away in turn.

The only one who doesn’t is a brown skinned Indian woman with long black hair, holding his gaze with little difficulty. As she seats herself in the seat next to him – two away from Elias’ – she cocks an eyebrow at him.

“I’ve not seen you in this meeting before, right? You know where you’re sitting?” Her tone is kind, though a bit stand-offish.

Jon just huffs and nods, looking away first.

The woman shrugs and goes to pull out her laptop and documents, the light bright against the dimly lit room.

The last person is barely sitting down when the door opens once more and Elias walks in, briskly.

He looks immaculately put-together once more, which is one hundred percent unfair. His gaze sweeps over the room, all present automatically falling silent, and lands on Jon.

The only reaction he gives is the slightest twitch of his eyebrow as he meets Jon’s eyes for an eternal second. Jon smirks at him, a fluttering of nerves in his gut.

But then Elias is moving, nodding to the room which propels them into motion as he takes his place next to Jon. As Elias sits down, Jon can feel the eyes of his co-workers on him, some in innocent curiosity, others in jealous disdain.

Elias’ brushes his knee against Jon’s in a way that could be accidental as he pulls out neatly printed or written documents for the meeting and gives Jon an innocent smile.

Jon just huffs and looks away.

The agenda is full of things that are completely irrelevant. Schedules, changes in sickness policy, an update on a research project that has nothing to do with the Entities or the Eye, a monthly budget.

After the agenda, Elias steps towards the front of the room to give a general update on the state of the Institute. Jon is pleased to see that he avoids his gaze completely.

When Elias returns to his seat, his chair is just a little closer to Jon’s. Jon doesn’t need to see the twitch of Elias’ lips to know that he noticed.

Jon won’t give him any more visions, no. Not only would that be predictable, he also wasn’t sure if _he_ could survive that with his dignity intact.

Instead, as a young man rises and starts talking about some policy or another, Jon moves his hand slowly underneath the table.

Elias’ thigh is hot against his cold hands. He’d always had bad circulation, but for once, Jon does not mind. He resolutely keeps his eyes pointed to the front of the room, using his other hand to at least pretend to make notes.

But all of his focus was on his hand. It trailed along the side of Elias’ thigh shyly, fingers tapping the warm flesh teasingly. After a minute or so of nobody around them moving, noticing, he took a breath and slowly moved the hand to the top of Elias’ leg.

Only for Elias to grab his hand tightly.

Jon tensed, startled, and turned his head to look at Elias with confusion in his eyes.

He knew it was a mistake as soon as Elias’ eyes bore in his.

_The only sound in the room was the peaceful crackling of the fire in the hearth._

_The flames cast a warm glow around the room, lighting up the countless books around them. Shelves and shelves and shelves upon obscure and priceless books. Jon wanted to read every single on of them._

_And he was right to. This was, after all, Elias his personal library._

_It was some sort of a, ah, tradition amongst the Heads of the Magnus Institute. Each and every one of them, since the great Jonah Magnus himself, has left his personal library to his successor._

_All this knowledge, free for his lover to devour._

_Built around the fireplace was expensively furnished reading corner. On the couch in the centre of it, green leather matching Elias’ eyes – custom made, of course – sat two figures._

_Elias smiled fondly as Jon turned another page. He himself was browsing casually through one of his favourite books, written by Robert Smirke himself, an empty glass of wine on the table next to him._

_His attention was not focused on the book, however. This was not because the book was worthless – it was mostly accurate, and where it was not it was simply amusing – but because of the figure leaning into his side._

_Jon’s hair was done up in a messy bun, a few strands escaping that framed his face beautifully. His eyes were completely focused on the old and weathered book in his hands, the pages yellowed with age. The way his Archivist handled the book was like a mother cradling a babe, full of love and protectiveness, while at the same time eager for anything it could give._

_Elias felt his mouth curve into a genuine smile as Jon’s eyes devoured the words, entranced. It was not quite a statement, no, but the personal reflections of James Wright were certainly quite interesting._

_Jon’s glassed slipped down his nose ever-so-slightly and Elias felt a swell of affection run through him. Giving up the pretence of actually re-reading Smirke’s work, Elias moved his arm around Jon’s shoulders and tucked a stray lock of hair behind Jon’s ear with the other._

_Jon startled slightly, so absorbed in his reading, but gave Elias a shy smile that just asked for a kiss. Elias obliged his impulse, never one to deny himself, and smiled against Jon’s lips when his lover responded._

_Elias pulled back after just a few seconds, however, fearing the other man’s impatience at being hindered from obtaining new knowledge. It suited him. His Archivist._

_Jon makes a generic noise of affection as Elias pulls back, eyes already on the book. Elias would huff in amusement at Jon’s priorities if it was not something he admired about him._

_The way Jon curled up against his side in response was more than enough to reassure, anyway._

Jon pulls his hand back like Elias’ thigh is made of hot wax, startled so badly that he ends up chocking on his own spit. He tries to cover up his coughing as best as he can, ignoring the concerned look his other neighbour shoots him.

God, he hopes his blush isn’t visible against his dark skin in this dim light.

He can just _feel_ Elias’ satisfaction radiating from his left.

Jon’s hands relax, though his whole body still feels like it’s on fire. There are so many conflicting emotions running through him that he does not know what to think, making him sit up straight and unmoving like a statue.

What _was_ that?

It felt so _real_. Was this what Elias had felt like as well, just now in his office? But that was at least partway based on reality. They’d never- he’d never- well, they’ve had dinner together once or twice, and enough serious conversations about something or the other throughout these past few months, but they’d never been like _that_.

Jon hadn’t thought that was on the table at all, actually.

But that vision – that fantasy – it couldn’t all be a lie, could it? The emotions in it felt so honest, so tangible.

(He called Jon his _lover_. He just- he couldn’t do that, that could not be real, he wasn’t allowed to do that, wasn’t allowed to make Jon feel such a way in response to that. Elias wasn’t _sweet_. He was smart and manipulative and protective, yes, and witty and confident and always there-

Ugh.)

Jon curses Elias’ name loudly in his head. Next to him, Elias covers his mouth with a hand.

Now Jon actually wants to go to that library. That, at least, he’s sure is the truth.

The bastard.

He’s glaring at Elias before he knows what he’s doing.

_“I thought you said you couldn’t dance?”_

_The soft sounds of classical music flowed gently over the speakers, the grand piano in the room currently untouched._

_“I can’t. I’ve never done it before, and I’m not exactly the most graceful person,” Jon replied._

_“Then I’ll see it as evidence that I’m simply an excellent teacher,” Elias teased in return._

_Jon rolled his eyes in expiration as Elias held out his hand once more. Jon did not hesitate to take it in his own, which filled Elias with contentment. A slow waltz, this time, he decided._

_He showed Jon the basic steps slowly, hands loosely held together so Jon could have the space to look at his feet. His Archivist was a quick learner, however, and soon Elias could draw him close once more._

_One hand on the curve below Jon’s shoulder blade, the other clasped neatly in Jon’s own. The pair of them held still as the next number started, filling the room with sweet music, and Elias started moving once more._

_It was quite romantic, actually. Elias surprised himself with how much he liked it._

_Then again, maybe he’d just finally found the right person to share something like this with._

_“I never knew you could dance like this,” Jon commented out of the blue, a tinge of red on his cheekbones as Elias pulled him in a sidewards turn._

_“I do actually have some hobbies, you know,” Elias couldn’t help but mock gently, smiling at Jon’s exasperated look._

_“Aside from spying on all your employees?” he quipped back._

_Elias huffed out a laugh. “Aside from that, yes. Though I must admit, I rarely have the chance to dance these days. I’ve learned the art in my youth, and though I may seem rather adequate at it, I assure you my original teacher would be quite cross with my form.”_

_Jon pressed a laugh against Elias’ shoulder, the feeling of warm breath on his skin surprisingly pleasant. “I would pay to see him or her chasten you, you know that.”_

_“I’m sure you would,” Elias responded, lips curves in a slow smile._

_He wasn’t lying, though, as the next variation on the dance took quite some concentration to actually pull off._

_Luckily, Jon was a wonderfully adept dance partner, compliant in just the right way without being meek. The pair of them stepped and twirled through the open space, and Elias savoured the look of joy on Jon’s face._

_“It’s fun, isn’t it?” Elias asked as the song came to an end and the two of them stilled. Neither of them had let go._

_“It is,” Jon responded and rose to his tip-toes to pull Elias forward in a kiss._

_Elias obliged his lover’s wish gladly._

This time, Jon was more prepared, though the whole scene still felt like a knife through his heart.

“Not fair,” he hissed at Elias, feeling somewhat betrayed. How _dare_ he show him things like this, _intimacy_ like this, without there ever being a chance of it happening in real life?

For all he know, Elias couldn’t even dance. The man was probably just laughing at him behind his teasing demeanour, enjoying the fact that Jon had been longing something like that his whole life. Arrogant _git_.

Elias’ smile dropped at Jon’s words and posture, gaze turning serious. Had his thoughts been that loud?

“Have I ever lied to you, Jonathan?” he asked softly at precisely the right volume so the words were only clear to Jon.

Jon stared back at him, still incensed. No. Not directly, at least – Elias had manipulated them, sure, only told parts of the truth of left things in such a way that all of them had interpreted it completely wrong…

But he’d never outright lied to him.

Elias could read the conclusion on his face clearly and bend forward slightly.

“Then trust me as I say this, Archivist. I am not showing you this to… laugh at you.” An edge of hesitation to his voice. “I am… not adverse to partake in activities like that.” A pause. Again, this time more confident. “I would like to do these kinds of things with you, Jon. I’d simply assumed that you would not be, ah, open to those possibilities.”

Jon stared at him in disbelief. Sure, his opinions and feelings about Elias varied by the day, from trust and admiration to anger and suspicion… but the underlying affection had been there for quite some time. No matter how much Jon sometimes tried to deny it.

How did Elias not know that? Elias Bouchard, who played so convincingly at omniscience? Did the man even know what demisexuality _meant_?

Elias let out a frustrated breath, and Jon stopped himself from flinching. “I did not mean for this to come across this way,” the man said, and Jon realized the frustration was aimed inwards.

Something in Jon wanted to believe Elias, wanted to believe someone thought that way about him – but it was difficult. He was scarred, inhuman, wrong. It was difficult enough sometimes to believe that someone would want him sexually, but this-

“Jon,” Elias said almost soundlessly. “Here. Let me show you.”

Jon dragged his eyes up to meet Elias’ with effort.

_The first thing Elias felt when Jon appeared from Peter’s mist was an overwhelming sense of bone-crushing relief. Not just from the part of him that is connected to the Eye, as much a part of it as it is of him – but also of whatever is left from his own humanity._

_The second feeling is a spike of anger at himself for being so vulnerable, to have less than complete faith in himself, in his Master._

_The third is annoyance._

_That one is aimed at Peter’s smug smile._

_“There you go, your dear little Archivist home safe and sound,” Peter assures him happily, then pauses. “Or well, mostly sound.”_

_Elias grits his teeth, reminds himself that Peter saved his Archivist. That he has build connections and alliances and favours for exactly these kinds of situation. It is enough to make him smile, and he is sure the emptiness of it pleases Peter._

_“Thank you, Peter. Your debt is repaid.”_

_“Good, good.” Elias grits his teeth harder, forces himself to stay still. “Well, I’ll leave you to him, then. I have people to avoid.”_

_The last traces of mist disappear as Peter slides back into the Lonely. Elias lets out a breath, waits until he Knows Peter is gone completely, then re-focuses on what’s important._

_Jon is kneeling in the middle of his office, staring blankly at the carpet in front of him. A sharp spike of worry pierces Elias and he curses himself for it at the same time as he gives in._

_He falls to his knees in front of Jon, gazing at him with an intensity that displays his chosen Master clearly. Jon is shivering, still not entirely here. His lips are blue and his hands are clenched together in terror._

_Physically, at least, he looks alright. He’s resilient, his Archivist, and the surge of affection takes him by surprise._

_“Jon,” he says as he brings his hands forward, stopping just before touching skin. He shouldn’t move too fast. “Do you know where you are?”_

_Something flickers behind Jon’s eyes. “No,” he chokes out and Elias tenses, “Elias, it’s- not safe, she’s, it’s you she wants, go, go away, before-”_

_Elias can’t stop himself. His sweet, sweet Archivist, going through all this and still thinking of him, of his safety. A genuine smile appears on his face as he leans forward and closes his arms around Jon, pushing his face into-_

_Jon jerks back in terror, and Elias draws back. Stupid, stupid._

_But then Jon makes a noise, straightens his head. “Elias?”_

_Elias carefully covers Jon’s hands with his own, the sense of relief still making him light-headed. As Jon’s eyes slowly re-focus, Elias takes the chance to dip into his mind. He needs to know if Jon’s okay._

_The feeling of_ surprise-affection-relief-adrenaline _is overwhelming, and Elias can only repeat Jon’s name as the sensations wash over him. He wants to stay like this, drown in them, but pulls back reluctantly._

_As he does so, Jon falls into his arms, as if chasing after him. This time, Elias does not hold back and embraces Jon fully, allowing the last slivers of worry in his heart to settle._

_Jon is strong. He has survived. He has come home._

_Such a good Archivist, Elias thinks with awe. Facing the Stranger, who is the antitheses of the Eye in so many ways, coming out whole at the other end._

_“My Archivist,” he murmurs, the pride that now burns in his gut so fiercely shining through. “I’m so proud of you,” he verbalizes, and somehow isn’t surprised when Jon tilts his head upwards and kisses him._

_The earlier affection rears its head back up, and Elias kisses Jon back happily. He will admit that, ever since Jon kissed him after their last argument, he’s thought about this quite often. They were not unpleasant thoughts._

_When Jon invites him to deepen the kiss Elias does so greedily. He licks into Jon’s mouth, tasting him, feeling a pleased burn in his gut when Jon shivers._

_In that moment, he realizes it is not just through the Ceaseless Watcher that he cares about Jon – the feeling is also coming from Elias himself._

_He pulls back in surprise at the realization, only half-catching Jon’s wounded noise. It pulls him back enough to shove that realization to the back of his mind and focus._

_Jon has just been through a traumatizing experience. Though Elias isn’t above making use of a situation as it presents himself, his goal here is not to seduce his Archivist, even though the thought makes him shiver pleasurably. His goal is to ensure the strength and safety of his Archivist, and it doesn’t take a man of his intelligence to realize that Jon is not in the most stable mindset right now._

_He guides Jon to the couch, maneuvering him down there gently. Debating whether to let Jon sleep or feed him a statement, Elias makes to move to his desk, calling Rosie to clear his schedule for the day._

_Jon’s hand on his sleeve is not unexpected. The naked look of need, the yearning for assurance that this is real, is._

_Who is he to deny his Archivist anything?_

_He hopes Jon will never realize just how far Elias would go for him._

_Elias sits back on the couch gently, a feeling of elation coursing through him as Jon burrows into his side. Like this, the shivering of his hands becomes noticeable again, and Elias tears his gaze away from his Archivist in guilt._

_It is not an emotion he is used to feeling. It implies attachment, and Elias Bouchard is not attached. To anyone._

_Except, apparently, his Archivist._

_(He is not known, by anyone. Except, potentially, his Archivist. The shiver of fear at that thought is consumed by the Eye greedily.)_

_The guilt in his chest does not lessen at the embrace, so Elias decides to speak and wills his voice not to break. “I regret what happened to you this past month, Jon. It was- it wasn’t necessary.” The spike of self-directed anger is mixing with pride at Jon’s resilience. Elias tries to keep them out of his voice._

_“My apologies that I have only now been able to… solve this problem.” Somewhere in the back of his mind, he is aware that the gaze of the Ceaseless Watcher intensifies. Though Elias does not believe the beings that they call the Entities are capable of feeling something like attachment, relief or affection, he does like to think that the Eye is… satisfied, that its two most powerful Avatars are whole._

_Together._

_Jon says something else, but it is lost in the sensation of the Eye’s gaze. The next words spill out of his lips without much conscious thought._

_“I nearly lost you, Jon,” and this time he thinks his voice does break. “That woman – her domain. Well. I- I couldn’t see you.”_

_I didn’t know if you were okay. I was concerned, and I did not like it, and I could not change it._

_I care about you, or so it seems._

_Jon, luckily, did not ask further, focusing on something else instead. “Do you often watch me?”_

_The sliver of compulsion sets his whole body alight. Combined with the gaze of the Eye still on them, Elias feels his will to defend himself slip away._

_“Not enough,” he replies. It feels like atonement. “Never enough.”_

_Jon moves to kiss him, and Elias makes a token protest. It feels weak even to his own ears, as he finds his body curving towards his Archivist._

_When Jon finds his lips once more, Elias gives himself to him completely._

The two of them are silent for a long moment, simply staring into each others’ eyes.

Jon breathes heavily, pupils dilated. Elias looks far more composed, of course, but even he has a light flush high on his cheekbones.

That was a memory.

That was- that was real.

Jon Knows it.

“Do you see now, Archivist?” Elias lips form the words without a sound, but Jon can understand him perfectly. Elias’ voice is soft, far too intimate, too full of admiration. “Do you understand?”

Jon holds back the urge to whimper.

Elias’ answering smile is full of worship.

His thoughts are a storm inside of his head, analyzing the memory he’d just been given over and over, hope and uncertainty and awe warring within him.

A voice rings from the front of the room.

“Mr. Bouchard, if you please.”

Jon startles at the words, focusing the attention on the rest of the room. Fuck. They were not- they were in _public_ , for God’s sake. Who might have seen them…

Do what, exactly. Stare at each other?

Somehow, he thinks the Eye is enjoying itself.

Elias clears his throat, nodding at the speaker, taking a few seconds to gather the papers on his desk. During that time, he seems completely composed again, and Jon huffs.

His eyes are glued to Elias as the man turns his back on him and walks to the front of the room, and Jon wonders if he is tilting his hips _that way_ on purpose or if Jon’s officially starting to see things.

He’s distracted from his musings by the soft nudge of an elbow in his side.

Blinking in surprise, Jon suppresses the urge to snap defensively and turns to the woman on his right.

She’s the Head of HR, if he’s not mistaken. Sarah – no, Susan. Her hair is black, but she’s thinking about dying it blonde, as her wife has expressed her preferences for blondes lately and their sex life has become stagnant and Susan’s starting to feel insecure.

Jon blinks once more. Wonders if his own state of mind influences the focus of his Knowing.

“Yes?” he says softly, more harshly than he intended.

Susan just quirks an eyebrow and leans towards him. “I know our boss can be, ahm, pleasing to look at, but right now you’re not being very subtle.” Her tone is soft, half-teasing. “Nor very professional.”

Jon feels his eyes being drawn to the front of the room once more. Elias has started talking, thanking the previous speaker and pulling up one of his beloved spreadsheets. He wets a fingertip with his tongue before pulling a page from his hands, and Jon wants to curse at him so badly.

The woman from HR is still smirking at him. Jon feels the blood rushing to his cheeks. “I, no, wait- I’m not sure you-” The rest of his words are stuck in his throat.

Susan huffs softly. “Calm down, we’re all just human.” _If only._ “I’m just saying, maybe save your daydreaming for another, more… appropriate moment?”

In the background, Elias uncharacteristically pauses in the middle of his sentence. Jon is absolutely sure he is laughing at him.

The bastard.

Jon himself, meanwhile, just gapes at Susan like a fish until she turns back to focus on Elias.

What.

Mortification floods him as he crosses his arms and tries to make himself smaller. The urge to hide his face in his hands is overwhelming.

Has he been so obvious? Had _they_ been so obvious – or had Elias been planning this, playing with his other employees like toys?

 _Like you played with Margret,_ a voice in his head whispers.

Jon takes several deep breaths, schooling his features and willing his blush to die down. No more public teasing like this – he’s learned his lesson. This was – He should have known – this had been an experience.

Changing his posture into something that may even be called professional, Jon focuses on the front of the room again. The numbers on the projected spreadsheet are meaningless to him, but he tries to pretend to understand.

Five seconds later, he makes the mistake of meeting Elias’ eyes as the Head of the Magnus Institute steps in front of the screen to point at a probably arbitrary number.

Elias’ eyes are bright and glistering as they bore into Jon’s-

_The spreadsheet is still on the same page, Elias leading the meeting as if nothing has changed._

_But it has._

_In front of him, bent over the table in full view of all attending employees is Jon himself, eyes half-closed in pleasure and face flushed. He is naked – of course he is – and Elias is lazily thrusting into him from behind, slow but steady, one hand on his back, nails digging into his skin the only sign that he’s affected by it._

_Elias’ voice is steady and business-like as he explains another budget post, simply smacking Jon on the ass when he interrupts his explanation with a loud moan, slapping a hand over his mouth after the third time to which Jon gives a full-body shudder._

_The whole room is silent, acting as if nothing’s wrong, except Susan who is looking at both of them with shock on her face-_

It takes everything he has to bite back the groan that wants to tear itself from his throat and just close his eyes instead.

It is going to be a long meeting.


	3. five gifts + one receipt part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 5 got out of hand, so I'll add the +1 in a last chapter, he.  
> Thank you wingsifer for your wonderful review, you really motivated me to write <3 
> 
> This is basically porn oops (:

Jon briefly debates with himself whether to go through with his last… gift. On one hand, this has already been a day like none other. More than enough to satisfy Elias. His experiment with – what did the internet call it again – this _edging_ thing was surely a success.

Apart from the fact that Elias managed ruin his plans, of course. Not that had really surprised him.

On the other hand, Jon simply wanted _more_.

He’d enjoyed being in charge for once – admiring his own boldness at even halfway pulling this off – felt _sexy_ in a way that he’d never felt before.

So, after contemplating with a nice cup of tea – thank you, Martin – he’d decided to go through with it.

And now he was going to do it.

He’d bought the poster a few months back, on a whim. One of those cheap things you could stick to a wall.

Except that, today, he’d stuck it on the ceiling of his office, right above his desk.

Pictured on that flimsy piece of paper was nothing more but a pair of elaborately drawn eyes.

_What am I doing_ , a traitorous thought flickered through his mind. _There’s no guarantee he’s even watching_.

Meeting the eyes on the ceiling, Jon felt a bit silly. He didn’t feel like someone who could pull this off – just a scarred and tired man who’d seen far too much in his life.

_But the other things worked as well,_ another part of his mind whispered. _And Elias liked it. Elias likes you. You know what he said_.

(“Do you often watch me?”

“Not enough. Never enough.”)

Just remembering the cadence of Elias’ voice, the way his eyes fluttered obscenely as Jon successfully compelled him, makes Jon’s skin break out in goosebumps.

Leaning back in his office chair, tipping his head back and closing his eyes, Jon lets out a breath and bites his lip. He is going to do this.

His hands creep up from where they are hanging limply from his sides. The rustle of cloth is audible in the silent sanctuary of his office, the smell of paper and ink prevalent in the air.

One of his hands creeps towards his groin, playing impishly with his belt buckle. The other creeps upwards, trailing along the old button-up he’d changed into and settling on the base of his throat.

In his mind it is Elias his hands.

Heat starts pooling in his gut.

Jon opens his eyes.

It feels like they are burning, a sense of power filling him as he meets the motionless eyes on the ceiling. Jon purposefully does not try to Know whether Elias is watching. The uncertainty sends a shiver down his spine.

He likes it.

“The door is unlocked.” The words are barely there, but Jon makes sure to clearly shape the words with his lips. Makes sure to wet them, afterwards, pink tongue slowly dragging over sensitive flesh.

“Anyone could come in,” he continues huskily, feeling very naughty. “Anyone.”

The sound of his belt falling to the floor is like a thunderclap in the silent room. Jon deliberately does not tense up, nor does he look at the door as he silently wants to.

The fingers on the base of his throat splay wide, covering his neck in a dangerous caress were the hands from anyone other than himself. The thought makes Jon lean his head back further, tipping over the edge of the chair, eyes falling short.

“Who knows what they may do,” he whispers and puts two fingers in his own mouth.

The office around him falls away, slinking to the barest tickle of awareness in the back of his mind as Jon sucks and licks at his own fingers.

He pushes them in and out of his mouth slowly, savouring them, thinking so hard about Elias’ cock he almost convinces himself he can taste it.

He moans, louder than intended, eyes shooting open in surprise at his own reaction. It makes him aware of the strain of his cock against his underwear, and after a moment’s thought he stands up.

Swiftly, he discards both his trousers and his underwear, bolstered by his own boldness. This time not stopping himself from throwing a quick glance at his office door.

It’s closed.

No one has come in – _not yet_ – and none of his assistants bother him during the day. Only Martin comes in twice a day like clockwork, two cups of tea the only regular contact he has with his assistants anymore. The man has been by twice already, throwing him an indecipherable look which Jon dutifully ignored.

That said, Jon still feels on edge as he disrobes himself inside his office. The flutter of nerves in his stomach only strengthens the heat that is gathering there.

Jon reaches into his drawer and pops open a tube, coating two of his fingers in cold lube. He uses his other hand to shove the last papers on his desk to the side – _why hasn’t he cleaned his desk he’s so inexperienced at this stupid stupid_ – and some of them flutter to the ground silently.

When he sits back on the chair he is panting slightly, feeling his heartbeat quicken. Arousal burns in his veins, a feeling he savours.

Jon finds the eyes on the ceiling instantly as he leans back and puts both his feet on his desk, spreading them lazily.

His shirt is rumpled, a layer Jon isn’t quite willing to lose. The drag of fabric against his flesh prickles. Jon imagines how Elias must feel right now, sitting far away in his office, staring absently off into the distance as his Sight razes across Jon’s body.

“Are you going to keep sitting there, or…” Jon tries to suppress the desire in his voice, adapt that bland pleasantness Elias so favours. It’s difficult to say how well he succeeds.

What he _does_ succeed in is making himself moan once more as he pinches a nipple, a short burst of sensation, while at the same time teasing a lubed-up finger along his half-hard cock.

He debates telling the ceiling that it’s Elias whose fingers he is imagining, whose face is so vivid in his mind as the hand travels lower until it prods at his entrance, whose hungry eyes he wants to be staring at his lips.

_Elias’ ego is large enough as it is_ , Jon muses mischievously and stays silent. His hand leaves his chest, teasing the buttons on his shirt before palming his cock, fingers too short and broad to match his fantasies.

When he pushes a single finger in, slowly, it takes effort to open his eyes again, to meet the paper gaze on the ceiling. He doesn’t remember closing them.

Jon pushes a second in almost immediately, impatient even as his breath stutters slightly. He can feel himself colour, his body growing hot, cock fully erect.

It’s still not enough.

“E-elias,” the name escapes his lips before he can help it as a third finger enters him. His legs are spread wider now, wantonly, and if Jon looks between his legs he can stare directly at the door. He’s pushing himself closer to the desk, somehow, back curving upwards for better reach.

“What do you,” he pants, drawing his knees up higher to gain better access, “think someone will do if they open the door? Would they just walk away, ashamed, p-pretending they didn’t see anything?”

The third finger feels good, burning just a little. Jon grits his teeth before he forces his jaw to relax. He _likes_ the burn, the flash of pain as he’s truly stretched open, the harsh sensation reminding him that it’s real. (That Elias is there. That he could never feel as full as when Elias is inside of him.)

This burn is a pale imitation.

The thought is still stimulating. His fingers hit that spot inside of him, drawing out a groan even as Jon tries to stay silent. The slick movement of his fingers echoes around the office but Jon barely pays it any mind.

“Or would t-they see an, _oh_ , an opportunity? Maybe Tim would like a chance to, to _release_ his frustrations.” He was meeting the painted gaze directly now, gaze full of hunger so close to need it was almost indistinguishable. “Or maybe it’s a, a statement giver, desperate to be c-com-comforted,” the trail of thought goes hazy for a moment.

The ideas themselves weren’t exiting perse. However, the idea of Elias imagining them, becoming _jealous_ over him, well. _That_ hit all the right spots. Jon thew his head back in a fit of pleasure as his fingers prodded at his prostate, barely stopping himself from whining as it was _still not enough_.

As he opens his eyes his fantasy of Elias is so vivid that for a moment Jon thinks it is the real thing.

But the door is still closed.

Jon shoots another look upward even as his fingers slow down, the feeling of not-full-enough becoming bothersome instead of excitingly needy.

He bites his lip, feeling his cheeks warm up even more.

He’d thought Elias would have been here by now. Is he even looking? Is Jon just acting like an animal in heat here for no reason?

His fingers still completely. Jon straightens slightly in his chair, drawing his legs back, throwing another look at the door. This time, it is actually tinged with a hint of true fear.

_Or worse. Maybe Elias is looking._

Maybe he’s sitting in his office right now, completely unaffected, leaning back in amusement at little delusional Jonathan Sims making a fool of himself. Maybe he’s laughing, _wheezing_ , that Jon believed he could ever break the composure of the great Elias Bouchard, that he could just act like some star in a porn scene and not look like a complete idiot, that he-

A few things happen in quick succession.

First, the door moves open with force, held back just in time before banging against the wall.

At the same time, Jon jumps in terror, loses his balance, and falls down his chair. His arms flail around wildly, dragging not only the open bottle of lube but also the cast-aside stack of papers down with him _and_ banging his knee against the desk at the same time.

Next, the door closes. This time the sound is loud, resonating around the office. The clicking of the lock is a fraction of a second later, so quick it barely registers in Jon’s mind.

Thirdly, Jon scrambles to hide himself behind his desk, heart thundering and knee throbbing even as he’s now completely covered in papers. Some of them are actually _sticking_ to him with lube.

Jon stares at the papers, the collection of notes on a recent statement, and the only thing on his mind is _what._

The intruder starts laughing.

It starts as a chuckle, a familiar sound that eases the growing panic in the back of Jon’s mind, soon evolving into a full-throated chortle. Jon slowly raises his head above the edge of his desk to see Elias standing there, leaning against the now-closed door, one hand on his stomach and the other in front of his mouth. His eyes are dancing with mirth.

Jon narrows his eyes.

The last sounds of rich and genuine laughter escape Elias’ lips before he stills innocently.

Jon glares at him and tries not to show the pure feeling of _relief_ currently coursing through his body.

Elias starts chuckling once more, removing his hands to show a wide smile.

Jon glares at him some more.

“My dear,” Elias says, voice still unusually cheerful, “you have no idea how cute you look right now.”

“Cute?!” Jon says incredulously. No one has ever called him cute. No one. Not without the Admiral purring on his lap.

“You have,” Elias begins and gestures at his own (impeccable) hairdo.

Jon reaches upward and plucks away the piece of paper that was stuck to his hair. Follows that up by rising on shaky legs, brushing all of the paper off him and putting the bottle of lube back on his desk.

This was a disaster.

“This is a disaster,” Jon repeats self-deprecatingly. His earlier high is gone now, changed into a resigned feeling of defeat as if he was riding a rollercoaster. The shock may be gone, but his confidence has gone with it.

“I’m sorry, Elias,” he continues as he starts picking up the papers, resolutely not meeting his boss’ eyes. He does not want to see the pity in them. “This was a stupid idea. All of that was a stupid idea.” The lube is cooling against his ass, a trail of liquid slowly falling down his inner leg. A testament to his shame.

Jon continues, bending down to pick up another paper, trying not to think about how stupid he looks. “I’m not sure what I even was _thinking,_ ” a bark of laughter, “if you could even call it that. I’m sure you-”

Elias is suddenly very close, crowding him against the desk and wrapping his arms around Jon, pushing the rest of the papers on his desk with the same movement. Jon feels his face heat up at the movement and Elias’ tender gaze, looking away as quick as he can.

“Jonathan,” Elias simply says, “look at me.”

The urge to pout and disobey just to be contrary is strong. So strong. But Jon had already fucked up once today (only once?) and reluctantly meets the other man’s eyes.

They are warm, far warmer than Jon had anticipated, burning so bright it is almost overwhelming. For any other person, it certainly would be; like this, there was no doubt that Elias is not quite human.

Behind those eyes lurks the presence of something old, something other, shining through clearly for those who knew how to look.

Jon basks in it.

"My love,” Elias whispers and Jon closes his mouth forcefully, “do not think I do not appreciate what you have done today. Are doing today. All for me, all this research and planning, so far out of your usual comfort zone.”

Elias cups Jon’s cheek in his hand. Warmth spreads from the point of contact, filling his whole body.

“You are amazing, Jonathan. My Archivist, tempting me so sweetly, so wickedly, down here from his unlocked office.” A particular kind of strain was put on the last words.

Jon feels himself shiver.

Elias brings his face closer, breath playing on Jon’s lips. “There are very little people in this world who even stand a chance of making me lose my composure. Even less who would be able to do so here, in my own domain, using my own powers… well,” a chuckle, “not against me, exactly.”

Elias moves his lips slowly towards Jon’s earlobe, nipping on it harshly, drawing out a shaky breath. Somehow, the heat in Jon’s gut starts pooling once more, his still-stretched entrance clenching slightly, reminding him how empty he is.

“But you, my love, you keep surprising me. A blessing I vow to forever saviour.” A tongue flickers out dexterously, dragging along his ear and Jon hums in pleasure. In response, the arm around his waist tightens, drawing him close to the other man.

Somehow Jon is surprised to feel Elias’ hardness grinding against his crotch, the other man free of any temporary breakdowns. It heats him up in a way he hadn’t thought was possible after that earlier disaster.

But the memory already feels vague, far away, something that happened to him a lifetime ago.

Now, there is only him, Elias, and far too much clothing.

“Such a good boy,” Elias whispers huskily.

The praise floods Jon’s ears, body tingling with arousal. His mouth watered slightly, hole clenching once more.

“Elias,” he whines and the other man captures his lips in a breath-taking kiss.

Jon presses back hungrily, opening his mouth immediately to encourage the other man to devour him. Elias does not disappoint, plunging into the wet heat of his mouth, hands caressing his body in such a way that makes Jon’s toes curl with pleasure.

Acutely, Jon becomes aware of the fact he still is bare below the waist.

The next moment Elias’ hand wraps around his cock, stroking him slowly as he undoes his emerald tie with the other. Jon throws his head back and moans, slapping a hand across his mouth a second later.

They are still in his office.

Elias has no such trepidations and keeps stroking Jon playfully, fingers teasing his cockhead and playing with his balls. Jon keeps his hand around his mouth to stop the needy sounds escaping from his mouth.

“Now,” Elias breathed, taking a step backwards. Jon feels the loss keenly though he was mollified by the desire burning in Elias’ gaze. “I believe you were in the middle of something?”

Jon turned around immediately, all traces of shame gone as he bend himself over his desk and spread his legs wide. Curves his back _just so_ , that he may turn his head to see Elias and show off his ass at the same time.

In moments like this there is no doubt in his mind that Elias wants him. Loves seeing him like this, spread open and needy. He Knows this with a certainty that resonates in his bones, a balm to his broken soul.

“I was finished,” Jon answers shortly and hates how desperately his voice leaves his throat. Elias hums in response, freeing his own impressive length and stepping closer, doing nothing else other than picking up the half-forgotten lube.

Efficiently coating himself with the clear liquid, Elias looks at him piercingly.

“Are you sure,” he asks evenly as if his cock was not currently red and leaking. “I am a patient-”

“I want to feel you,” Jon interrupts him huskily. He lays himself flatly on the desk now, moving his arms to his ass to spread himself open. A part of him is embarrassed about how desperate he surely looks right now, an empty hole begging to be filled. The other, larger part of him basks in Elias’ attention, the feeling of being Seen.

“I want it to _hurt_ ,” he adds hotly and drinks in the sound Elias makes in response.

“Oh, _Jon_ ,” Elias breathes out hungrily, “sometimes I just want to _devour_ you.”

He steps forward and enters Jon in one single thrust.

Jon _keens_ , throwing his head back as far as he can. The burn is intense and so good, the feeling of Elias within him, filling every part of him.

Above him, Elias captures both of his hands against his back and holds them there, not even pausing in his movement as he bottoms out completely.

“ _Yes,_ ” Jon pants, “ _Elias,_ please,” and subsequentially presses his mouth against the cold wood of his desk, silencing himself.

“Don’t hold back on my account,” Elias whispers wickedly. He starts moving so deliciously, thrusting into wet heat that clenches around him twice, three times – before he stills completely, still buried to the hilt.

The lack of movement is so unexpected Jon starts to squirm, turning his head to the side. “What?” he asks impatiently, wriggling his ass for good measure, enjoying the way Elias’ face tightens.

It is only for a moment, however, as it soon relaxes into an impish smile.

_That means nothing good_ Jon realizes just as he becomes aware of the sound of footsteps.

A knock upon the door.

Fuck.

“Jon?”

Basira.

Jon swallows, whole body tense. _The door is locked_ he reassures himself, _locked_. Nothing is going to happen.

Another knock. The doorknob rattles. “Jon? Can I come in?”

Taking a breath, Jon steels himself. “Not now,” he answers shortly, wincing slightly at his own rudeness. Elias is still seated deep inside of him, stretching him open wide.

“It’s about that case from yesterday. You wanted to know about the haunted knife, right?”

He did. But not right now.

“We’ll do that,” and slowly, ever so slowly, Elias begins to move, “t-tomorrow.”

Fucking hell.

“I, uh, now is not a good,” the burn intensifies, setting his nerves alight, the faint movement of air across the cooled-down lube along his leg a wonderful contrast of sensations, “ahem, not a good time.”

Behind him, Elias is smirking, dragging his cock out of him slowly. It isn’t enough to make Jon lose his composure – barely.

It had been a long bloody day.

“Jon? Are you alright? You sound a bit… off.”

_You need only tell me to stop,_ Elias mouths against his skin with a smile sharp as steel.

Jon does not want Elias to stop.

“Yes, yeah, I,” Elias twitches his hips once more, pushing deeper this time, brushing ever-so-slightly along his prostrate. Jon had to stop talking lest he start hissing in pleasure.

“I’m fine,” he grits out after a pause, exhaling shakily when Elias suddenly pulls out completely. “Just, not now. Let’s,” the tip of Elias’ cock rubs against his entrance, teasing, and Jon has to stop himself from pressing back into him, “let’s do this tomorrow.”

“Sure,” Basira answers, though she still sounds sceptical. “…let’s.”

Jon does not answer, too busy biting his lip as Elias moves ever-so-slightly forward, cockhead barely pressing inside of him.

He keeps still, lip starting to bleed. Behind the door, it was silent for one beat, two – and then footsteps once more.

Jon does not move. Behind him, Elias does, rubbing himself against Jon continuously, teasing the tip but not actually doing anything.

“Elias,” Jon groans as soon as he Knows Basira is out of hearing range.

“Yes, love?” Elias answers faux-sweetly.

Jon rolls his eyes, though he does acknowledge the rush of warmth those words bring to him. To himself, if not aloud.

“You know what.”

“Do I?”

Elias, whose grip had eased during the conversation, presses Jon’s hands tightly against his back once more.

“Yes, you do,” Jon responds stubbornly, pressing back into Elias. Damn the man, giving him a taste like that and then still teasing. Why does he like him.

“Help remind me,” Elias continues airily.

“Not. Fair.”

Elias simply hums, not saying anything.

Jon’s inner stubbornness wars with his desire, his want and need to, after this whole day of (admittedly enjoyable) teasing finally _having_ his lo- Elias.

Whatever comes out of that clash is not enough to defeat Elias’ steel will.

Not by far.

“Please fuck me,” Jon grits out in defeat.

“That wasn’t very convincing,” Elias tuts.

Jon tenses, like a string being pulled taut, letting out a soft whine at Elias’ tone.

“Please fuck me, Elias,” he repeats, seriously this time.

Elias’ free hand creeps forwards, teasing Jon’s nipple playfully.

“Third time’s the charm,” Elias breathes lustfully. A little bit of strain colours his voice, making Jon breathe quicker in response.

“Elias,” Jon responds quickly and this time the desperation in his voice is clear. Elias’ hand creeps upwards in response, a sharp nail digging into his chest.

“For the love of- please, _please_ fuck me Elias, I need it, I need you inside of me-”

“ _Jon_ ,” Elias responds roughly. He grabs Jon tightly by the throat, hauls Jon upright, and _finally_ pushes inside of Jon.

Jon _wails_.

Pleasure courses through his body as Elias starts fucking him in earnest. It is fast and it is hard and it is _fantastic_. Elias’ cock stretches him open fully, a thousand little pinpricks of sensation braiding together into one single cascading wave of pleasure.

Elias presses him close. The hand on his throat puts pressure on the veins in his neck, cutting of his blood flow without obstructing his ability to breathe. At the same time, he pounds relentlessly into him, teasing his prostate with every thrust, making Jon feel so very _alive_.

Jon is getting light-headed, all his cares floating away like leaves in the wind. For a moment, his concerns and worries do not matter; the only thing that matters is Elias fucking him, their bodies coming together like two sides of the same coin.

Behind him, his partner moves, and Jon lets himself be guided back onto the desk, resting his cheek once more against the cold wood.

Elias releases both Jon’s arms and his neck, moving his hands tenderly. Jon’s cock hangs forlornly between his legs, leaking precome. Elias gives it a teasing stroke before clutching at Jon’s hips.

“My Archivist,” he murmurs tenderly against the skin of Jon’s back. “So good, so good for _me_.”

Then he starts moving once more. This time, his cock pushes deliberately against Jon’s sweet spot, igniting the fire of arousal with every thrust.

Jon is vaguely aware of chanting Elias’ name over and over like a prayer. Behind him, Elias is breathing faster, occasionally moaning Jon’s name in response.

Heat is pooling in his groin, shocks of pleasure coursing through his body as Elias thrusts into him again and again.

He is close, so close, world narrowed down to the point where their bodies meet.

Jon moans in pleasure, vocal cords straining to reach the height of sound he wants to make, uncaring of whomever may be listening.

And then, finally, after a whole day on toeing the line-

Elias pulls out.

Wait.

Jon makes a noise of confusion, limbs heavy with pleasure as Elias slowly turns him around so they are standing face to face.

“You look positively _ruined_ , my dear Archivist,” Elias breaths and the undercurrent of possessiveness in his voice nearly makes Jon come right there.

“Now, now,” Elias continues softly as he swats Jon’s hand away, which had been creeping towards his cock, “none of that, now.”

Jon re-focuses his half-lidded eyes, slowly emerging from the waves of sensation he’d been drowning in.

Elias, the bastard, is still fully clothed apart from his bare groin. He looks very much affected by their lo- fucking, cheeks flushed, hair in disarray and cock weeping openly.

Jon smiles proudly at the sight even as his own body yearns for release.

Elias pulls himself together, running a hand through his hair and straightening his clothes. He produces a tissue from somewhere and wipes away most of the bodily fluids. He is even gingerly pulling his boxer brief back up, carefully putting himself away.

_What the fuck?_

Jon repeats the sentiment aloud as Elias stands before him, once more the impeccable bureaucrat save for the bulge in his trousers and the dilation of his pupils.

Elias leans forward with a smile, touching his lips against Jon’s forehead. “Language, my love.”

“You wouldn’t,” Jon says aloud, incredulous.

“Oh, but I would,” Elias replies cockily. “Aren’t you the one who started this game? Are you truly surprised, Jonathan, that the tables are turned? After all,” Elias whips out another handkerchief from somewhere on his person, “aren’t you the one who rightly deduced that I do not want to let you _win_?”

“You wouldn’t,” Jon simply repeated, but it sounded faint as it dawned on him that Elias totally _would_.

If you stare in to the abyss, and all that.

Elias’ smile is radiant, confident in his control as he straightens Jon’s shirt and starts cleaning up his partner as well.

The sense of caring displayed as Elias dutifully un-debauched Jon was at odds with the wicked smile on his face.

At last, as Jon could do nothing but stare at- at Elias, the man picks up his silk tie, the last piece of armour still missing.

However, instead of putting it on he ties the smooth fabric around Jon’s own neck. Every brush of fingers is like a furnace; every hiss of silk against his over-sensitive skin pulling a shiver from.

Jon stills, debating the pros and cons of breaking their unspoken rules and climbing Elias like a tree right now, fuck the consequences.

But no.

Damn his machoistic self, but he was actually into this.

_So_ into this.

Elias finishes Jon’s tie – a Eldridge knot, the show-off – and leans back in satisfaction.

Jon keeps breathing steadily, in and out and in and out, until the post-sex haze dims and he can think straight again.

Well, as straight as possible when Elias is looking at him like that.

His gaze travels along Jon’s body, searching for something. Jon scowls in return, lest Elias suspect he was actually more turned on than frustrated right now.

“You can handle yourself again,” Elias murmurs almost to himself as the Head of the Magnus Institute swiftly makes his way towards Jon’s office door.

“I- Elias, wait,” Jon said, scrambling to find his underwear and dress himself. It takes far too long, of course, and by the time he was semi-presentable and had thrown his office door open, Elias is nowhere to be seen.

As he stands there in the corridor, staring at the direction Elias had powerwalked off to, conflicting feelings coursing through his body, he hears footsteps once more.

From around the corner, Melanie appears, mug in hand. She nods curtly at him, frowning as her eyes linger on his neck.

“Is that Elias’ tie?” Melanie asks suspiciously.

“What? No!” Jon protests and flees back into his office.

_Fucking. Elias_.

He tries to fool himself into thinking that had not been a plea.


End file.
